Conduct Unbecoming
by Jayden Scott
Summary: Brenda Leigh Johnson just got herself out of one charge of conduct unbecoming, let's see if she can't get herself into another. Brenda/Irene femslash. Contains romance between two hot ladies.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Conduct Unbecoming**

**Pairing: Brenda Leigh Johnson/Irene Daniels**

**Disclaimer: Oh if only I were so blessed. But I'm not. Not mine.**

**A/N: I am appalled by the steaming lack of the Closer femslash. So I rectified the situation. This is part one of thirteen.**

* * *

There were two points during the course of an investigation that Detective Irene Daniels could pinpoint as her favorite. Of course, the inevitable dull phone inquiries, information digging and gathering, paperwork, and dead leads accompanied them. But it made her favorite moments, while fleeting, that much more sweet.

The first of her favorite points was the interrogations. The boss, Deputy Chief Brenda Johnson accompanied by one detective sit across from their current suspect in one of the interview rooms, while the rest of squad squeezed into the surveillance room to listen and watch remotely.

Daniels had her personal chair in the surveillance room that no one dared sit in while she was present. Detective Sanchez had only dared once and had not risked doing so since. From her seat, she had a perfect view of all of the video monitors, so no matter how the interrogation proceeded she had a decent perspective from all angles.

She wasn't a voyeur or some kind of freak. It was simply the only opportunity where she could watch Chief Johnson without worrying that her gaze was too intense or that something might betray there was more than polite attentiveness in her eyes. During an interrogation, she was _supposed_ to be watching the chief, so she could afford to allow her eyes to linger intently on the other woman's lips, her eyes.

It was the only time when appreciating her boss's beauty was not a liability.

Her second favorite part came when the entire squad gathered in the murder room for a briefing. It did not happen every time; it only happened when another detective was presenting the case on the murder board. Deputy Chief Johnson would move back to a distance where she could listen and watch, usually sliding up to sit on the corner of a desk.

Usually, the corner of Daniel's desk. She would cross her legs, nudge her glasses up on her nose, and listen attentively to the details of the case without the slightest inclination of the torture she was inflicting on the woman behind her.

And Daniels had the best view in the murder room. Brenda's skirt would hike up halfway up her thigh, revealing long, slender legs kissed a natural golden, honeyed tan. It was the closest she ever was to Brenda. Normal standards of professionalism dictated they were rarely closer than an arm's length.

But during a case briefing, Brenda was close enough to touch. All Daniels needed to do was lift her hand and her fingers would graze the older woman's thigh, lift it a little higher and Daniel's could place her hand in the small of her back. It was agonizing to be this close with the knowledge she could only think about it, never act on it.

The proximity between the two was intoxicating, painful. Daniels anguished each second Brenda sat so close, barely a foot away. It was more painful than any other time because it illustrated that the distance between them was so much more than physical. Brenda was her boss, straight, romantically attached to a male FBI agent, and woefully unaware of Daniel's feelings. They might as well have lived on opposite coasts given the likelihood they would ever be anything but coworkers.

But as much as she suffered during those moments, she loved them. Every time they gathered in the murder room, her chest fluttered with the wisps of hope that Brenda would simply sit next to her. That simple gesture touched Daniels in a way that could not be defined; even if it wasn't Brenda's intention, even if she was blissfully unaware of the effect she had on her.

It always left Daniels's heart throbbing and her head swimming when Brenda finally slid off her desk.

There had been a passage of Shakespeare that Daniels remembered from a college English class. It had not meant anything to her at the time, but her current predicament made it incredibly relevant. She had not ever really enjoyed Shakespeare; he was too melodramatic, too mushy for her. She wasn't one of those girls who swooned when her lover recited love sonnets or some ridiculous passage from Romeo and Juliet, but when Brenda started working for the LAPD, the passage needled its way into the back of Daniels mind, popping to the foreground randomly. Finally, she had relented and looked up the passage, reread it.

"She never told her love,  
But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud,  
Feed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought,  
And with a green and yellow melancholy  
She sat like patience on a monument,  
Smiling at grief."

It was a passage about unrequited love, as so much of Shakespeare was. For once though, Daniels felt the raw truth of the words and appreciated them. For once, she thought, Shakespeare knew what he was talking about.

So when Deputy Chief Brenda Johnson invited her squad for drinks after trashing all of their resignations for the second time, Daniels had been the first to vocalize her endorsement of the idea.

"Sounds great, chief." She had said, then swallowed hard, hoping she had not spoken too quickly. She relaxed when the other members of the squad added their agreement.

Even if the night awarded nothing but a smile and a few personal words, Daniels thought it might be worth it.

"Another round?" Flynn asked, slamming another crumpled bill on the bar, motioning vaguely for the bartender to start pouring more drinks.

Daniels waved the bartender off. She was still slowly sipping her second beer, unlike her colleagues, with the exception of Sergeant Gabriel who was responsible for driving Sanchez home. It was a good thing too because the Hispanic detective was in a stiff drinking competition with Lieutenant Provenza, and losing.

Even the chief, Brenda, was on her third glass of wine. And while she did not seem tipsy, her smile was more ready and open than usual.

"Come on, Daniels, loosen up," Flynn clapped a hand on her shoulder and slid another bottle of beer to her.

Rotating on her bar stool, she glared at the lieutenant. "I'm as loose as I want to be, Flynn." She replied sarcastically, adding a pointed eye roll for effect. She had her reasons for abstaining this evening. First of all being, she still had to drive home. The second was she did not trust herself sloppy drunk around the Chief.

Flynn grinned around his toothpick and picked up the rejected beer, taking a long swig without removing the toothpick from the corner of his mouth. Daniels wondered if it was the same toothpick, or if he traded them out periodically. "Suit yourself."

"You alright, Daniels?" Brenda's drawl crept up from beside her like a lover's hand, concern lulling her tones.

"Fine," Daniels responded automatically, abruptly turning her gaze to the chief who had slipped onto a barstool beside her, unnoticed. "Just not much of a drinker is all." Daniels took a slow slip from her half-full bottle, feeling her mouth suddenly go dry.

Brenda was silent, seemed to study her a moment. "As much fun as I'm having," she said, loud enough for the rest of the squad to hear. "with my luck a case will pop up in a couple of hours, with half my squad completely inebriated." She smiled broadly, the way she did when she was being overly gracious with her wording. "So, at the very least, I believe I should be sober."

There was a general consensus of groans from the rest of the squad. Gabriel stood from his table with Provenza and Sanchez. "Hey, you need a ride home, Chief?"

"No, no, no," Brenda motioned for him to sit back down. "You've got do drive Detective Sanchez home." Her soft brown eyes fell on Daniels. "Detective Daniels, would you mind givin' me a ride home, please?"

It took several beats for Daniels to find her voice, but she finally managed, "Sure thing, chief." And she was already on her feet, pulling on a blazer she had thrown over a neighboring stool.

"Y'all have a good time now," Brenda was saying as she slung her oversized purse over her shoulder. "And thank y'all again. Thank you very much." She said, waving as she led the way to the door of the bar. "Bye bye now."

Dutifully, Daniels followed her boss out and took up the lead, since Brenda had no idea what kind of car she drove. Her mind reeled. The two of them had never been alone together before; it was more temptation than she could stand. It would be okay though; she had done this before. So long as she hid behind the guise of professionalism, she would be fine. It worked perfectly well before, this was no different. Just a different environment.

"Where to, Chief?" Daniels asked, once they were both situated and seatbelts were fastened, car started.

"It doesn't matter." Brenda sighed the words. Daniels quirked a brow at her, perplexed. The small, strong woman next to appear seemed to have suddenly deflated. Her elbow propped on the center console, she had buried her face in her hand and slouched into the seat. "Just drive."

Turning the ignition, Daniels complied and began driving. The abrupt shift in Brenda's mood left her feeling awkward. "I don't know where your house is, Chief." Daniels prompted.

"I don't want to go home," Brenda straightened in her seat.

"Um," Daniels tried to think of the appropriate response, but there was none. She had tried to imagine before how the Chief might act on a personal level, when she wasn't Deputy Chief and simply Brenda. Now that she was experiencing it, Daniels did not know how to respond. So instead, she focused on driving, even if she did not know where she was driving to.

"I didn't think I was going to have a job tomorrow." Brenda said finally, staring sightlessly ahead.

"We weren't going to let that happen, Chief." Daniels slipped back into the comfort of professionalism. "Besides," She tried to suppress a smile but failed. "We heard what you told the district attorney and the FBI and Captain Taylor. I wish I could have been there to see their faces."

Brenda chuckled, then laughed. "Well, Pope said to apologize. He didn't say for what." The laughter eased the tension Daniels felt. It was one of the things she admired most about the older woman; she did not seem to care what people thought of her, regardless of who they were. Gradually, the laughter eased and subsided. "I am grateful for what y'all did, for what the squad did. Probably saved my job."

The hand on Daniels arm would not have surprised her more if it had electric current running through it. _Get a grip on yourself, Daniels._ She chided herself mentally. A deep breath steadied her enough so she was able to refrain from swerving into oncoming traffic or slamming on the breaks. "It's no problem, Chief," Daniels forced herself to sound casual, and risked a glance over at the passenger seat, at Brenda. "I… we all respect you. A lot."

Brenda's hand remained on Daniel's forearm, just below the crease of her elbow. It was a gentle pressure not firm enough to be grasping, but not light enough to be a caress. But it held Daniels completely immobile all the same.

Daniels turned her head, and opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

"You know, in Atlanta, red means stop." Brenda commented casually as if oblivious to Daniels mental struggle.

"What?" Daniels brow knit together in bewilderment. She was used to Brenda's somewhat odd personality, but this was one of those instances where she was completely lost.

"The light is red." Brenda broke eye contact and pointed in front of them.

Daniels followed her finger to the glowering red light in front of them, the line of stopped cars. It took a moment for it to register, but when it did, she stomped on the brake. They stopped short of the SUV in front of them, but just barely. Heart racing, she felt her safe flush. "Sorry, Chief." She glanced over sheepishly.

The Southern woman appeared unruffled by the near-wreck. In fact, she seemed to be holding back a smile. "It's alright, Detective." Her hand was still on Daniels's arm, her grip somewhat tightened. Clearing her throat, she pushed herself up in her seat and leaned over the center console.

Daniels watched as if a third party looking on through the windshield. Brenda used her hand on the other woman's arm for leverage to lift herself over the center console and bringing her so close their noses brushed. She hesitated at Daniels sharp intake of breath, searching her face for a reaction, some reason to stop. When Daniels did not stir, Brenda pressed her lips against Daniels.

_Oh, God, her tongue is in my mouth._ Was the first coherent thought that reached her brain when she returned to her body. Then she was shocked still as Brenda's mouth hungrily sought her lips, her tongue. Her mind was assaulted with the fact that her lips were locked with her boss's, that a moment she imagined a dozen times over was manifesting in a way could never have planned.

Of their own volition, her lips responded, her tongue begged entry to Brenda's mouth. Hands left the steering wheel and instead slid over the soft contours of Brenda's abdomen and hips, the only thing separating Daniels's hands from the other woman's skin was a frustratingly thin, floral print dress. With the recklessness common to secret lovers, she drank Brenda's taste and smell: tangy and sweet from the wine, faintly of spice from her perfume, and hot with need.

She kissed Deputy Chief Brenda Leigh Johnson without regret or thought. This was her moment. It was a moment she had desperately craved, imagined, wanted but never thought possible. Whatever happened afterwards, she just wanted to enjoy kissing Brenda, love her while she had the opportunity.

Until some asshole leaned on his horn, abruptly yanking both women back to reality. Brenda fell back in her seat while Daniels reeled, trying to figure who and why was honking at them. The bright green light glared at her, as if chastising the couple.

Fingers tightening around the wheel once more, she threw up her free hand to flip the agitated driver behind her off. Not that he was in the wrong, but because he had interrupted the best kiss of her life. Only when she lifted her hand, it bumped into something. Perplexed, she glanced over to find that Brenda's arm was already raised, that she had beaten her to it.

The two women looked at each other, laughed. "Well, it's good to know we think alike." Brenda said, her voice a notch huskier than usual.

Daniels nodded, licking her lips to taste what remained of Brenda's mouth on hers. Clearing her throat, she tried to sound nonchalant. "Where to?"

"You decide," Brenda said immediately, though her tone suggested that she might have a few places in mind.

A corner of her lips quirked in mischievous not-quite-smile, Daniels nodded. "I know just the place."

"Oh. My. God." Brenda fell back, completely sated. "I think that was the best I ever had."

"Wait till you try this." Daniels grinned smugly.

"No. I don't think I could take anymore."

"Okay, if you say –" Daniels feigned acquiescence and backed away.

"No, no. Come here." Brenda made a great show of leaning forward again, as if exhausted. Her dark eyes closed to narrow slits, her mouth open just slightly. It was the sexiest thing that Daniels could ever think of.

Brenda closed her mouth and groaned. "Oh my, is that chocolate strawberry?"

Daniels chuckled and lowered the fork to her plate. "It is. So, was it the best?"

Opening her eyes slowly as if drifting out of ecstasy, Brenda swallowed and gestured to one of the empty plates on the table. "It's between that one and the pecan pie, I think. Or the custard pie." Her brows knit together in a concentration that Daniels had only witnessed when she was on a case. "It's hard to choose."

"Yeah. Du-par's has got the best pies anywhere I've been." Admittedly, Daniels didn't go many restaurants searching for pies to try, but Du-par's was renowned in LA for having the best. "There's still a couple bites left of the custard left, if you want it?"

"I don't think I could eat another bite if my life depended on it." Brenda wiped the corner of her mouth and placed the napkin on the table.

They had been easy with one another during the entire meal, if it could be called that. They enjoyed seclusion in a corner booth. The late hour lent to the quiet atmosphere that would soon be shattered by the bar crowd stumbling in for breakfast. They hadn't mentioned the kiss. Instead they talked about the squad, about the two dozen pies they had sampled, the merits of custard cream over banana cream, and a million things that did not matter.

And now that they had finished eating, both seemed at a loss for words.

"Where to now?" Brenda finally asked.

"Won't Fritz be worried about you?" Daniels was loathe to bring up Brenda's… she supposed he was her boyfriend but she wasn't sure. There was no hiding the jealousy that colored the question, but she felt obligated to ask. If Brenda really wanted to pretend as if nothing happened, this was the opportunity Daniels felt obligated to present. But she hoped so hard that it ached in her chest, that Brenda wouldn't take it.

Cocking her head to the side, Brenda smiled wistfully. "Do you read Shakespeare, Detective Daniels?"

Some part of her felt like she should be used to the chief's habit of answering questions with one of her own, but she was still thrown off. "Uhm," She stuttered, confused. "I took a class in college."

"He said, 'Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, and therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind.' Does that answer your question?" Brenda folded her hands in front of her; face void of expression.

Daniels rummaged through her purse, using the time it took for her to find her wallet and remove enough money to cover the bill, to mull over what she had said. "Shakespeare knew what he was talking about sometimes." She said finally, tucking the bills under one of the empty plates.

"Then take me to your place, Detective Daniels." It was almost a plea.

Daniels stood and hesitated before offering her hand to the other woman to help her slide from the booth. "You do know my name is not Daniels right?" She asked, smiling at the feel of Brenda's hand in hers. "It's Irene."

"Well, if I were to address you by your first name that might be construed by some as conduct unbecoming." Brenda said, her words sweet with sarcasm.

Daniels didn't release her hand, even after Brenda stood. "And kissing one of the junior detectives in your squad in the middle of traffic couldn't be?"

"Let's go to your place then, Irene."

**To be continued...**


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: Conduct Unbecoming**

**Pairing: Brenda Leigh Johnson/Irene Daniels**

**Disclaimer: Oh if only I were so blessed. But I'm not. Not mine.**

**A/N: I am appalled by the steaming lack of the Closer femslash. So I rectified the situation. **

* * *

The last thing Brenda Leigh Johnson wanted was comfort.

That was why she had opted for drinks with the squad rather than go home to Fritz or stay and talk to Pope. She knew exactly what they would say, precisely how they would act. That was why she declined Detective Gabriel's offer to drive her home. The familiar was so blandly predictable, so woefully incomparable to what she was feeling.

She knew how Fritz would encircle her with his massive arms, how the fabric of his suit would feel against her cheek when he held her to his body. She knew how he would smell, what he would say. He would tell her that he never any doubts that the charge of "conduct unbecoming" would be dismissed, never worried for a second that she might lose her job, entertained any concerns that her reputation might be soiled or she'd be publically humiliated. She knew he would kiss her and they'd fall into bed in a tangle of naked limbs and sweat. She also knew he would keep his socks on while they fucked.

Brenda did not want that. The mere thought of how Fritz would behave made her want to scream. Pope and Gabriel would have acted in a similar fashion, minus the kissing and sweat and socks. She did not want to go through the motions. She didn't want their perfunctory reassurances because they meant nothing to her. Because not one of them was actually interested in what she was feeling, none of them would take the time to listen to her.

That was why she opted to ride home with Daniels.

Daniels was an unwavering constant, always in the background of their cases but always prepared with the latest information. Daniels was dependable and straightforward. She never laced the investigation with unnecessary personal opinions or details. Above all, Daniels was honest.

It was in her eyes, every time they met. It was a quiet, subtle pain. It wasn't the outright pathetic regret that was so easily readable in Pope's eyes; this was both different and similar simultaneously. The hurt and affection in the dark skinned woman's eyes was evident; but it was testament to her character that went unspoken.

One thing Brenda was not, was stupid. It was her job to be observant. In fact, the CIA had spent God only knew how much money training her to hone that very skill, to pick up on subtle cues and read people's expression. She was an interrogator; the majority of her job was done once she had studied a person, read their personalities through their faces, the way they listened or held their hands.

She knew how Daniels felt about her to an extent, but she also knew that because of those feelings that Daniels would never lie to her.

So when she slumped into the passenger's seat of Daniels dark sedan, she allowed her exhaustion to show through.

"Where to, Chief?" Daniels asked.

"It doesn't matter." Brenda sighed and leaned on the center console, burying her face in her hand. She felt gravity of the day settle in on her just like the weight of tears weighing behind her eyes. "Just drive."

The car rumbled to life as Daniels turned the key in the ignition. "I don't know where your house is, Chief." The younger woman said, obviously trying to hedge the nervousness out of her voice.

Brenda straightened immediately, feeling as if Daniels had just threatened her. "I don't want to go home." That was the last place she wanted to go. They rode in silence, Daniels concentrating on driving without a destination. Inhaling deeply, she turned her eyes on the road without really seeing it. "I didn't think I was going to have a job tomorrow." She confessed.

"We weren't going to let that happen, Chief." Daniels responded vehemently, not denying that it had been a possibility. "Besides, we heard what you told the district attorney and the FBI and Captain Taylor. I wish I could have been there to see their faces."

The smile in Daniels's voice, the memory of the stunned faces of the DA, the FBI, and that pompous ass Captain Taylor coaxed a chuckle from Brenda. "Well, Pope said to apologize. He didn't say for what." After that, she laughed and glanced over at the detective. Silhouetted by the pale orange city lights, Daniels was striking, beautiful even. "I am grateful for what y'all did, for what the squad did. Probably saved my job."

As if the next movement was equitable to a life or death choice, Brenda rested her hand on Daniels's arm right below the bend of her elbow. The younger woman's muscle tensed reflexively and then relaxed. Even so, Brenda could still feel the strength in that arm, the taut muscle under skin that must be impossibly smooth.

For the first time that she could remember, Brenda felt her heart rapidly drumming against her rib cage, the blood pulsing through her body, heard the blood rushing in her ears. It was a delicious feeling. She wondered if Daniels was experiencing a similar feeling.

"I… we all respect you. A lot." Was all Daniels managed to say. She had been about to speak again when Brenda noticed the rapidly approaching traffic light.

"You know, in Atlanta, red means stop." Brenda commented casually.

"What?" The other woman appeared confused, but did not break eye contact.

Under any other circumstances, Brenda would have been happy to search the gentle brown eyes of the other woman, or admire her full lips, or trace the gentle furrows in her brow as she frowned. But unless she wanted to spend what remained of the night with LAPD's traffic department… "The light is red." She looked away and pointed ahead of them.

The brakes squealed in protest as Daniels slammed her foot down to the floorboard. "Sorry, Chief." Daniels apologized, abashed.

Hiding the somersaults her stomach was churning well, she nodded easily. It's alright, Detective." She glanced over at Daniels, who was still expelling a gasp of relief from the barely avoided wreck.

This was her moment. It was now or go home to forced normalcy. Using her hand on Daniels's arm as the fulcrum, she levered herself out of her seat and stopped just short of the other woman's lips. She could very well be risking her job. Again. But she wanted and needed to feel.

Brenda squeezed her eyes closed and kissed Daniels. She tried to convey everything she felt in that kiss with her lips and tongue in a way speaking never could. When the younger woman responded, she felt the world and any lingering doubt dissipate.

This was what she needed. Daniels's hands on her sides, pulling her closer. The soft crush of full lips on hers. The heat of the other woman's breath against her neck. The faint, musky hint of beer on her tongue. It was real. Daniels kiss was unforgiving and unapologetic. It wasn't forced or fake. It was visceral and free of the taint obligation left.

She kissed Daniels with a feral abandon that she had never experienced before with anyone. She felt it against her lips, in her chest, in her gut all at the same time. It was still not enough, she wanted to be closer, feel more of the young woman beneath her. Her hands roamed, needing more; her body flexed, pushing into Daniels and it was still not enough. She could not imagine letting go, of stopping.

Until some asshole leaned on his horn, abruptly yanking both women back to reality. Automatically, Brenda fell back onto her seat and groaned inwardly, cursing the green light ahead of them. Instinctively, she threw her arm up, middle finger extended for the benefit of the impatient asshole behind them.

Brenda felt an uneasy emptiness at the abrupt loss of contact. It was almost a queasiness that replaced the unhindered emotion. She wanted to weep until Daniels's hand bumped her own, attempting to flip the same driver off. She had to laugh or faced crying as an alternative. "Well, it's good to know we think alike." She said softly.

Daniels licked her lips; Brenda watched as the tip of her tongue languished on her lower lip for all to brief a moment. "Where to?"

"You decide," Brenda said, more than a bit hopefully.

The bright smile that lit up Daniels's features caused her heart to skip. "I know just the place."

There was no point to inquiring as to their destination, Daniels would not tell her. In fact, Brenda did not want to know where they were going. She relished not knowing.

She knew that with Daniels, it would be anything but predictable.


	3. Chapter 3

**Title: Conduct Unbecoming**

**Pairing: Brenda Leigh Johnson/Irene Daniels**

**Disclaimer: Oh if only I were so blessed. But I'm not. Not mine.**

**A/N: I am appalled by the steaming lack of the Closer femslash. So I rectified the situation. **

* * *

Brenda Leigh Johnson was not a virgin.

Sex was enjoyable, but she had never understood sex addicts or the obsession with pornography. It always started with a kiss that led to the inevitable shedding of clothing. There was the obligatory fondling and caressing before the actual sex began. Then at the moment of climax, she and her partner pledged their loyalties to a particular deity before collapsing in a heap of sweat and musk and heat.

Some sex was better than others. Some of her lovers had been better than others. Sex was a part of life as sure as brushing her teeth in the morning or putting gas in her car.

But with Daniels, with Irene, it was anything but the same tired routine. She wasn't sure how they ended up in Irene's bed, only that they managed to piss off several more drivers at every red light between the restaurant and the apartment. And now sex became something Brenda never knew it could be.

It ceased to be the simple physical act of making love and became an elaborate, choreographed dance, a conversation of bodies.

Each caress of Irene's hand along her thigh was a whisper. Every kiss of the exposed flesh along her collarbone was a promise. The slender fingers raking through Brenda's hair were a confession. Brenda felt every secret glance, every controlled word that Irene kept to herself over the past year communicated in every stroke, every kiss.

It became as clear as if Irene were telling her with words. She never had to be afraid with Irene, never lost or uncertain. She could always be herself, and Irene would never lie to her. If there was ever any quest for truth or honesty or comfort, Brenda knew she could find it here.

Cradled by a bed of pillows and swathed by the sweat slick body above her, Brenda lost herself in Irene. Blood coursed through her veins like molten gold, blazing hot just underneath her skin and slow. It wasn't just her body on fire, it was the whole world.

She felt the crispness of the sheets underneath her body, Irene's breath on her neck, hot and moist. Every hair pressed against her fingertips as she ran them through Irene's thick, beautiful hair. Every drop of sweat that beaded ice cold against her brow. Their stomachs pressed against one another, Irene's deliciously firm. She heard every hitch in her lover's breath, felt every tremor her touch elicited, heard and felt every guttural moan.

Every steady thrum of her heart was a surprise, moving in quiet rhythm with the leg pressed between her thighs. Desire was a word spoken casually before, but now had a new, brilliant meaning.

Brenda forced her eyes open, was startled to see Irene's eyes already meeting hers. She pulled the younger woman closer to her, needing to feel more of her, to taste more of her until Brenda could no longer tell where she ended and Irene began. Where her hand ended, and Irene's breast began. Where her tongue stopped and Irene's neck started. Where Irene's thigh gave way to her center.

Their bodies moved together.

Faster.

Until they both slipped under the tide of orgasm, surging against one another, resurfacing with breathless moans and silent screams. Until Brenda's body went slack and Irene collapsed beside her, both panting and sated.

Neither said anything. Even as Daniels wrapped her arm around Brenda's waist, and Brenda scooted closer, laying her head against the other woman's chest.

Brenda listened to the rapid thump of Irene's heart until it slackened into a slow, steady cadence and her rasping gasps for breath evened. She felt the wetness between her legs and on her inner thighs, cool as the air hit it. Her skin was hyper-sensitive, almost painfully so as Irene gently nipped the flesh where her neck met her shoulder, then kissed it gingerly.

They had no need for words, to talk. Their bodies had done all the speaking for them. Despite herself, Brenda felt her lids slip shut, impossibly heavy. She could not have said anything had she wanted to. She realized that she had been wrong. She had sex before, yes. But this, what she had with Irene Daniels, was something gloriously new and different. It was passionate and regretless.

It was making love, something Brenda was not sure she had ever had before.


	4. Chapter 4

**Title: Conduct Unbecoming**

**Pairing: Brenda Leigh Johnson/Irene Daniels**

**Disclaimer: Oh if only I were so blessed. But I'm not. Not mine.**

**A/N: I am appalled by the steaming lack of the Closer femslash. So I rectified the situation. **

* * *

The sun leaked through the edges of the curtains, spilling into the bedroom with a golden, mid-morning light. Detective Irene Daniels's eyes opened and quickly shut against the unexpected sunlight. She blinked a few times before her eyes adjusted. She always found it curious that she always knew exactly what time it was by the amount and color the sunlight that struggled its way past the curtains. It was at least nine in the morning, no earlier. She rarely, if ever, slept this late regardless of what time she went to sleep the previous night.

The other, and decidedly more pleasant, surprise besides the time of morning was the slender and still nude from stretched out beside her. Brenda was stretched out on her back like a cat, her left arm extended above her head, the other wrapped around Irene's shoulders. Golden hair fanned out on the pillow under her head and her mouth hung slightly open.

Irene simply stared for the longest time, first in disbelief followed by careful appreciation. She dropped her head back down to Brenda's shoulder and nuzzled closer. The naked skin on her cheek was smooth and soft in a way she never imagined the tough deputy chief could be. It was like waking up on Christmas morning or the first day of summer vacation when she was a kid. The day was so perfect that nothing could possibly be wrong in the world.

A day waking up to next Brenda Leigh Johnson was a day of promises and potential. The day was intrinsically good just by merit of waking up. There was nothing that could mar the moment; Irene was content wrapped in the clothes-less embrace of her lover with beautiful California morning sunlight seeping into her bedroom.

Feeling the smaller woman stir underneath her, Irene propped herself up onto her elbow so she could gaze down into Brenda's face. Her eyes fluttered and she yawned before finally emerging into wakefulness. Irene could not keep the broad, happy grin off of her face as Brenda glanced up at her.

"Why do you have the grin like the cat that just ate the canary, Detective?" Brenda asked, her tone stern. Brenda had a way of asking questions that demanded an immediate and truthful answer; it was her job after all.

So Irene wasn't caught off by her tone, or the suspicious expression on her face. "I told you to call me Irene." She replied, still grinning. "Besides, you might not want to call me 'detective' right now."

"Oh, and why's that?" Brenda asked again, rubbing the slumber from her eyes.

Irene tried not to laugh. "Because neither of us have any clothes on, _Chief_."

Brenda glanced down and lifted the blanket covering her up to her chest. "Oh, for heaven's sake." She muttered, covering her face with both hands. "Irene."

Irene's heart swelled in her chest like it did every time the chief did something incredibly adorable. The only difference now was that instead of her heart swelling as she watched helplessly from a distance, today she was lying next to her. Unable to resist the temptation even if she tried, which she didn't, she leaned over the smaller woman and pushed her hands from her face. When their lips met, it was no less passionate than it had been last night.

When Irene pulled away, Brenda's fingers were tracing lazy circles on her back. She licked her lips hesitantly. "I guess we need to talk, huh?"

Slowly, Brenda nodded, her hand migrating from Irene's back to brush her hair from her face. "I don't have to tell you that I really don't need another charge of conduct unbecoming on my record."

Irene leaned into the other woman's hand, relishing the caress. "We'll have to be careful. So no one in the squad finds out. Especially so nobody in Robbery Homicide finds out." She craned her neck so she could kiss the palm of the hand resting against her cheek. "But what about us?"

"Us?"

Irene swallowed the lump in her throat, nodded. She had Brenda Leigh Johnson for one night; she could handle it if that's all it turned out to be, a single night. But her throat tightened in anticipation of rejection, and she hoped that it turned out to be more than just a one night stand.

Brenda withdrew her hand, hammered the heels of her palms against her eyes. "Oh, God. What would my Mama say?"

"Does she have to know? She is on the opposite coast." Irene quirked a brow, amused that this beautiful, confident CIA-trained, Deputy Chief with the LAPD was concerned what her mother might think, as if she were a still a teenager.

Brenda hoisted herself onto her elbow so she mirrored Irene, her dark eyes plaintive. "I like you Irene. Last night was an amazing experience." The younger detective braced herself, her pulse throbbing. "But I don't want it to be just that, an experience. But I don't know if you noticed, I'm not exactly sure what I'm doing here."

Sighing her relief, Irene cupped the other woman's cheek. She knew how a tennis ball must feel, bounced back and forth over the net. She had catapulted between anxiety to amusement to trepidation to relief in the span of five minutes. "I am not exactly sure what I'm doing either. I've never woken up next to my boss before." She confessed more than a little sheepishly. "But I'm willing to try. I want to try."

"Are you sure?" Brenda pushed herself up to plant a quick kiss on the corner of Irene's mouth before sinking back. "This might totally surprise you, but I'm not the easiest person in the world to get along with."

Irene grinned and rolled and gently pushed so that Brenda was on her back and Irene was on top, straddling her hips. "I would be disappointed if you made it easy for me."

"Then I won't."

"So what do we call this?" Irene planted her hands on either side of Brenda's shoulders and leaned down so that her face was almost touching the other woman's.

Brenda's breath quickened almost imperceptibly and she snaked an arm around Irene's neck for another kiss, this one searing and clear in its intention. Her tongue gently probed entrance into the younger woman's mouth, teasing. She broke the kiss long enough to breathe, "How about we just call it "us" for now? Until we figure something out?"

Irene's answer was to finish the kiss and slide her hand down between both their legs until Brenda's back arched, and she moaned huskily into Irene's mouth.


	5. Chapter 5

**Title: Conduct Unbecoming**

**Pairing: Brenda Leigh Johnson/Irene Daniels**

**Disclaimer: Oh if only I were so blessed. But I'm not. Not mine.**

**A/N: I am appalled by the steaming lack of the Closer femslash. So I rectified the situation. **

* * *

Besides Deputy Chief Brenda Johnson and Detective Irene Daniels there were five members in the Priority Homicide squad. If one counted Chief Pope and the ever nosy Commander Taylor, that was seven individuals, seven pairs of eyes, the two women had to hide their relationship from on a constant basis.

It wasn't easy for Irene, who prided herself on her brutal sense of honesty. She found it easiest if she acted much as she had before they had slept together, before they became lovers, before she found out how Chief Johnson looked like naked, before she knew that the chief slept with her mouth open, snored lightly sometimes. If she pretended that their relationship strayed nowhere other than the professional, Irene managed to trudge through the work day without acting suspiciously.

Brenda did not make it easy. In fact, Irene suspected that the older woman did it intentionally. Brenda still sat on the corner of her desk during briefings in the murder room. Only now she purposefully hiked her skirt just a little higher than before, crossed her legs a little more slowly, leaned forward more deliberately. Irene should have known not to tell Brenda the slight proclivity she had for watching her boss whenever she sat on her desk like that before they had become lovers.

Both were quite adept at hiding their relationship; Brenda had experience when she hid her relationship with Fritz. Irene had practice when she had hidden her true feelings for the blond deputy chief.

But the veil of professionalism still faltered sometimes. Irene would allow her gaze to linger a little too long, or an unnecessary glance between them would slip. Every time Irene would swallow her heart and look away quickly, furtively checking to see if any of her squad mates had noticed. So far, no one appeared to be suspicious.

They thought they were safe in the privacy of the chief's office. More often than not, Brenda would keep the blinds closed so no one could get too curious.

It had been two weeks since the first night they spent together. Two weeks of hiding and lying from the rest of the squad. Not even Fritz knew the real reason Brenda had left him. Two weeks.

It had been a bitch of a day. For the Priority Murder squad that translated in absolutely nothing to do. No one had been murdered all day. No cases, no suspects, no interrogations. It was decent opportunity to catch up on paperwork, but no one became a detective because they loved killing trees with the mounds of paperwork the job required. Sanchez had all but begged to be loaned to the gang task force for the day, and Lt. Tao was more than happy to bury himself in his forensic journals. The rest busied themselves with whatever tasks they could find.

It was awful to hope someone would be murdered. But in LA, murder was as common as it was inevitable. Even if they had to work a case normally assigned to Robbery Homicide, Irene would be grateful for the opportunity to break the tedium. But it seemed that even Robbery Homicide seemed to be much more robbery today, and a lot less homicide.

Irene sneaked a glance at Brenda's office door. It was closed and the blinds were drawn. Sighing heavily, Irene decided to defy the monotony and reached into her desk. Producing a plain, empty manila folder, she tucked it under her arm and stood.

If anyone saw her stride to the chief's door, knock, they would see the folder and assume she was just bringing some reports or summaries to her boss. Rapping on the door three times, Irene opened it without invitation. "Chief, I have the report you wanted, but I wanted-" She began and halted in midsentence as soon as the door closed behind her.

Brenda was staring blankly at her computer monitor, her chin resting on her elbow that was propped onto her desk. She was wearing her glasses, the thick black frames lending her an appearance that Irene found both austere and sexy simultaneously.

"What can I do for you, Detective Daniels?" Brenda drawled, not removing her eyes from the computer screen.

Irene smirked and dropped the empty folder on the corner of her desk. She did not answer right away, knowing that the other woman was teasing her; Brenda knew damned well why she was here. Planting her hands on the desk, she leaned over, tilting her head to see what held her lover's attention so raptly.

"Solitaire?"

"Well, you tell me what else there is to do around here," Brenda said defensively and finally met her eyes.

Unable to stifle the grin that crept onto her lips, Irene dropped into the chair across from the chief's desk. "I'm more interested in what we're doing tonight than what's going on now."

"And what exactly, did you have in mind?" Brenda asked, her tone clipped. She was in one of her moods, Irene realized. Not angry exactly, nor irritable but short and impatient. It usually indicated that her mind was elsewhere, that there were larger things than the immediate present concerning her. The boredom must be chafing everyone a little raw.

"I was thinking we could go on a date." Irene said nonchalantly, slouched lower in her chair.

"A date?" Brenda ripped off her glasses and narrowed her eyes at her lover, as if attempting to decipher what she as up to. "What have we been doing nearly every other night for the past two weeks?"

Irene rolled her eyes pointedly. " 'My place or yours' is hardly a date, Brenda."

The older woman's expression softened and she rubbed her eyes with her slender fingers. "Irene, I know this is… different from a normal relationship. But we can't very well go to a restaurant or a movie. What if someone were to see us together? I am not going to risk my career and yours. I know what a scandal like that can do to a reputation." She said with an edge of finality in her voice.

"There are five million people in this city, Brenda." Irene sighed, accepting the other woman's point as valid, but seeing it as being a little, well, paranoid. "The chances of us running into one of the squad…"

"It's not a chance I'm willing to take." Brenda interrupted.

Irene stood and rounded the desk so that she stood next to Brenda. Tentatively, she reached out and ran her fingers through Brenda's hair, caressing her cheek with her thumb. "Fine. You win. As usual." She assented and leaned down, brushing her lips over the other woman's.

Brenda melted into her, pressing her lips firmly against Irene's. What was intended to be a brief kiss of comfort turned into more when Brenda reached up and wound her fingers in the hair at the base of Irene's skull, clenching tightly.

Irene groaned into her mouth, feeling warmth between her legs spread to the rest of her body. It was all she could do to keep from straddling the other woman in her office chair and reaching in between their legs. It amazed her that a simple kiss or touch from Deputy Chief Brenda Leigh Johnson could reduce her to a puddle of carnal need.

Until some asshole knocked on the door, "Chief?" Detective Gabriel's voice was muffled through the door. Instinctively, Irene leapt back knowing that no one waited for an invitation into the chief's office. They simply knocked and walked in.

"You can move that nine over here." Irene said, recovering quickly.

Brenda was still sleepy eyed with arousal, but she followed her lead quickly and placed her hand on the mouse. So that when Detective Gabriel poked his head in, it simply appeared that Daniels was helping the chief with her game of solitaire. "Oh, Sergeant Gabriel," Brenda glanced up, smiling one of her broad, honey-sweet smiles. "What can I do for you?"

"Oh," Sergeant Gabriel's body followed his head into the office, and he blinked his surprise at Irene. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

"I just came by to bring the chief the Kriezler report." Irene gestured vaguely at the folder on the corner of the desk, the folder that had been her cover for coming into the office. "And got distracted by helping her with the game."

If Gabriel doubted her story, he didn't show it. Instead he leaned over the desk to gain a peek at the screen. "Yeah, solitaire can be pretty addictive." He grinned at Irene, that goofy boyish grin that he always managed whenever he was around her.

It did not go unnoticed by Brenda, who cleared her throat. "I assume you interrupted my solitaire game for a reason, Sergeant Gabriel?"

"Um, yeah," Gabriel sobered immediately and averted his attention to the chief. "These are the summaries you wanted. And…" He hesitated, crossing his hands in front of him. "And the rest of the squad wanted me to ask you, since there is nothing going on, if we could leave for the day." He asked in his usual halting, abashed manner of speaking.

"Drew the short straw, did you Sergeant Gabriel?" Brenda didn't smile, but amusement still danced in her expression.

Gabriel dropped his head slightly. "Lost at paper, rock, scissors, actually, Chief."

"Really?" Brenda reached over and powered off her monitor and stood. "It sounds like an excellent idea. Tell everyone they may leave for the day, and to get some rest. Because with our luck two celebrities and a politician are going to drop dead in the middle of the night."

Irene stepped out of her way as she stood and bent down to pick up her oversized purse. Gabriel caught her eye again and smiled; he reached for the folder. "Kreizler report, huh?"

Before Irene could stop him, he had picked up the folder and flipped it open. His brow furrowed in confusion. Irene exchanged a worried look with Brenda, feeling her heart begin to race. She had left the folder empty; not thinking she would actually have to carry the ruse that far. All she had needed was a flimsy cover as an excuse to go into the Chief's office, not a full alibi.

"Oh," Irene blinked as Gabriel held up the empty folder. "I must have left it on my desk." She said, hoping it didn't sound as lame to him as it did to her. "I'm sorry about that, Chief."

Brenda shouldered her purse, giving a curt half nod. "It's alright, Detective Daniels. Sergeant Gabriel why don't you let everyone know that they may leave. I want to have a word with Detective Daniels in private." Though still smiling, her voice had taken on a predatory tone.

Awkwardly, Gabriel nodded and backed out of the office as if Brenda was a dangerous animal and that if he moved to quickly, she might be provoked into attacking. When the door clicked shut behind him, Irene bit her lower lip and slowly turned to face her lover. "I think he bought it." She offered with a weak smile.

"Especially," Brenda took a single step forward, closing the gap between them. She craned her neck so she was close enough to kiss Irene if she chose, but she didn't. "Since he thinks I'm in here giving you a talking-to for forgetting that report."

Her lips were so close that Irene could not resist leaning in to kiss her, but Brenda pulled away. "My house, at seven." Brenda instructed firmly, before taking a step back, adjusting the weight of her purse.

Irene licked her lips, closing her eyes to block out the screaming of her nerves at the contact Brenda had just denied her. "What for?" She asked, finally opening her eyes to see Brenda scoop her sweater and a stack of folders.

"A date, Detective Daniels." Brenda smiled and exited through the back door of her office. "Don't be late." She teased sweetly as the door shut behind her, leaving Irene standing alone in her boss's office.

Irene sighed, placed her hands on her hips. The sweet, Georgian woman was going to be the death of her, she was certain. "Oh, for heaven's sake." She muttered under her breath.

**To be continued...**


	6. Chapter 6

**Title: Conduct Unbecoming**

**Pairing: Brenda Leigh Johnson/Irene Daniels**

**Disclaimer: Oh if only I were so blessed. But I'm not. Not mine.**

**A/N: I am appalled by the steaming lack of the Closer femslash. So I rectified the situation. **

* * *

Deputy Chief Brenda Leigh Johnson knew her limits.

One of them was cooking. Even if she could cook, there was nothing in her refrigerator or freezer that required anything beyond boiling water or punching up the microwave. There wasn't enough time to stop by the supermarket before seven anyway, not with everything she already had to do. So on her way home, she called the little Italian restaurant and placed an order to pick up.

The whole drive home, all she could think about was what Irene had said. That "my place or yours isn't a date." Relationships were never very high on her list of priorities. Her career had always come first; relationships were always an afterthought. But she wanted this one to work. Brenda wanted to be with Irene, wanted to see where this relationship led them. While their relationship was still in its infancy, she wanted to assure she did not botch this one up.

So she thought and considered, sat in her car for an extra five minutes after she pulled up to her house. What was it about Irene that made her want this relationship so badly? The first night they were together it had been because Brenda was desperate for comfort, to be with someone who acknowledged her feelings, forced her to _feel_. She had wanted honesty, and that was what Irene had given her.

If that had been all she wanted, that one night should have been more than adequate. Now, she thought about Irene whenever she was in the shower, seated at her desk, talking to Pope. It was distracting, not to mention actually being in Irene's presence. She was strong and confident, compassionate at all the right moments, and tender with every kiss.

Brenda shook her head and climbed out over her car, breaking out of her own musings. She wasn't ready to admit that she was scared of wanting it. There were more important things to attend to. After all, she had a deadline of seven, provided Irene wasn't early.

She tossed her purse onto the couch and immediately began picking up her house. It wasn't really messy; she never spent enough time at home to create any sort of real mess, but it did need to be straightened up a bit. Once finished, she wrestled the small table in her kitchen out onto the back patio. It wasn't easy with one person, especially tilting it so it could fit through the doorways, but she managed. The chairs were easier to maneuver.

Rummaging through every drawer in the kitchen, she finally relented and began scouring through the linen closet. She didn't have a table cloth. However, she did find an old cream colored satin curtain that, if folded properly, might be able to pass for a table cloth. There silver candlesticks in the curio cabinet, along with a decent set of china. There was a collection of candles of every color, scent, and shape underneath the kitchen sink.

Halfway through her preparations, Brenda cursed and called the restaurant back, adding to her order. It took her an hour and a half to get everything on the back patio exactly how she wanted it. That left her another hour and a half to shower, change, and pick up the food.

The shower she managed in record time, but she agonized over her choice in clothing for at least thirty minutes. She did not want to be dressed too fancy, and she definitely did not want to wear anything she would normally wear to work. Finally, she decided on a pair of black slacks and a white blouse, over which she pulled a red sweater with three quarter length sleeves. A pair of plain black heels completed the outfit. It was something more casual than she would probably wear to work. Tying her hair up into a messy ponytail, Brenda studied herself in the mirror.

Definitely more on the casual side, but the neckline of the blouse and sweater revealed a hint of her bare chest. More importantly, it made her look younger, though she would never admit to anyone that was a concern of hers. But after the past few weeks with Irene, she had begun to worry that perhaps she appeared too old.

Checking the time, she trotted as fast as she could, given the fact she was wearing heels, into the living room and scooped up her purse and keys.

She gave the table setting on the back patio one final glance before leaving to pick up the food. Brenda had never once in her life considered how to be romantic, how to woo someone. It was never a problem that had presented itself before.

So instead of trying to figure out how to be romantic, she settled for doing all the things she wished past lovers had done for her. And prayed Irene would find it as romantic as she did.

**To be continued…**


	7. Chapter 7

**Title: Conduct Unbecoming**

**Pairing: Brenda Leigh Johnson/Irene Daniels**

**Disclaimer: Oh if only I were so blessed. But I'm not. Not mine.**

**A/N: I am appalled by the steaming lack of the Closer femslash. So I rectified the situation. **

* * *

Irene rang the doorbell for the third time.

When Brenda still did not answer, she reached into her purse for her cell phone. Brenda might not always answer the door, but she always answered her cell. It rang twice.

"Johnson." Brenda answered automatically.

Not able to stifle the smile at merely hearing the other woman's voice, Irene replied. "Is there a particular reason you're leaving me standing at your front door?"

"Oh, oh… God… I'm so sorry." Brenda rambled. "I was out back and must not have heard the doorbell." The line disengaged just as the door opened, revealing a beautiful, if somewhat harried deputy chief. "Come in, come in. I hope you weren't out there too long."

Irene stood rooted to the spot, staring. "You look lovely." She breathed once she found her tongue. Depositing her cell phone back into her purse, she followed the other woman into her home. "Really," She continued once the door was shut behind them, and she leaned in for a kiss. "Really beautiful." She had never seen her boss dressed so casually, but there was something that was subtly alluring about it.

After a quick kiss, she leaned back and admired the woman trying to place her finger on what was different about her this evening. She had seen Brenda in a variety of dresses, skirt suits, blouses, certainly outfits more revealing, more seductive than what she was wearing now. But then she had been dressed for work; tonight she was dressed as simply Brenda, not the deputy chief.

"Is there something on my face?" Brenda ducked her head self-consciously and wiped the corners of her mouth.

Irene laughed and pulled her close again for another kiss. "No, no. You look beautiful." She brushed her lips first over the other woman's, then her forehead. "Just breath-taking."

"I should dress down more often then." Brenda smiled and took hold of the younger woman's hand. "You look very nice yourself."

"Thank you," Irene glanced down at the simple blue and white sundress she had picked out. "Not nearly as pretty as you. So, where are we going?"

"Follow me." Brenda smiled faintly and led her through the house, out the French doors leading onto the back patio. A table had been set in the middle of the patio with two chairs on either side. A light colored table cloth was draped over the table, with two candlesticks serving as the centerpiece. Candles had been strategically placed and lit all around the patio to provide lighting and appropriate ambience.

"Here, sit…" Brenda stopped worrying her bottom lip with her teeth and moved to pull out a chair for her lover. "I'll… I'll be right back." Once Irene was seated, she disappeared back into the house, leaving Irene to marvel at all the trouble Brenda had gone through.

There was a single flower in a vase between the two candlesticks, a red flower which she didn't have a name for. It might not be a real date to a restaurant, but it was even better. She never figured Brenda for the romantic, candle-lit dinner type.

Brenda reappeared, a plate in either hand. She set them down, then uncorked the wine bottle already on the table. First she filled Irene's glass, then hers.

"I know it's not a real date," Brenda said, unfolding her napkin into her lap. "But I wanted to do something nice for you."

Irene looked down at her plate, at the heaping pile of lasagna, and grinned. "Did you cook this?"

"Goodness, no. I could probably burn water without even trying. There's a little Italian restaurant down the street and they make the best lasagna. You do like lasagna don't you? I should have called you and asked, but I figured who doesn't like lasagna." Brenda rambled, obviously distressed.

Heart swelling in her chest, Irene reached across the table and cupped her hand over Brenda's. "It's perfect, Brenda." She stroked the back of her wrist with her thumb. "This is perfect," She gestured to the place setting with her free hand. "You're perfect."

Brenda cocked her head to the side, smiled somewhat sadly. "No, it's not." Her brow furrowed, and she squeezed Irene's hand. "If everything were perfect we could go to a restaurant together, in public, and not have to worry if someone was going to see us."

It was as if Irene's lungs were collapsing around her heart; the emotional pain she felt was tangible. She pushed her chair back and rounded the table so she could take her lover's face in both her hands and plant a throbbing kiss on her lips. She kissed her with all the passion and love that she had nursed in secret for the better part of a year. She kissed her as if afraid it would be the last.

"I don't need the restaurants or movies or public." Irene whispered, not trusting her voice. She smoothed Brenda's bangs from her brow and kissed her again. "I don't care about any of that. All I care about is you." She punctuated each sentence with another kiss. "I'm sorry if I let you think that our relationship was contingent on those things. All I really need or want is you, Brenda. Just you. Just us."

Brenda smiled up at her, their eyes meeting and locking. Pushing herself up in her chair, she planted a quick kiss to Irene's cheek, and then sunk back down. Irene wasn't sure, but her lover almost appeared on the edge of tears, but she almost always looked like that when concerned or overwrought. "Thank you, Irene. Thank you very much." She sounded more confident now, reassured. "Now why don't you sit down and eat before it gets cold."

Irene complied, but only after another brief kiss. "This looks fantastic," She picked up her fork, smiling in a way that she felt take over her whole expression, in her breast. "I didn't take you for being such a romantic."

"Well, I didn't think so either." Brenda wiped the corner of her mouth with a napkin. "But it turns out, if you watch enough Lifetime, that television channel for women, you can pick up a few handy pointers."

Irene nearly choked on her food, but managed to swallow before turning blue. "Are you serious?"

Brenda had the expression she always wore when she knew something she wasn't about to reveal. "Have you ever known to be anything else? Try the wine. I've got another bottle chilling in fridge when we finish this one."

"If I didn't know better, Chief Johnson," Irene obliged, taking a sip of the heady red wine. "I'd say you were trying to get me drunk so you could take advantage of me."

Brenda laughed, a deep throaty chuckle. "Would it hurt my chances of doing so if I said 'yes?'"

Irene smiled into her goblet of wine, studying the other woman over the rim. She pretended to mull the question over, feeling the warmth of the alcohol coupled with the warmth at the idea of the other woman taking advantage of her spread and consume her body. "Probably not," She answered finally.

Brenda shrugged as she swallowed another bite of her lasagna, covered her mouth with her napkin. "Well, then yes."

**To be continued...**


	8. Chapter 8

**Title: Conduct Unbecoming**

**Pairing: Brenda Leigh Johnson/Irene Daniels**

**Disclaimer: Oh if only I were so blessed. But I'm not. Not mine.**

**A/N: I am appalled by the steaming lack of the Closer femslash. So I rectified the situation. **

* * *

The first time they had made love, it had been visceral and almost frenetic.

They hadn't since. Even though they had spent nearly every other night together, they hadn't made love again. They had kissed and made out, even fallen asleep entwined in one another's arms, but hadn't yet returned to sex. It wasn't something that either of them had discussed; it had just turned out that way.

But there was no doubt in Irene's mind that when Brenda took her by the hand, after dinner was eaten and the dishes were washed, and led her into the bedroom what the intent was. The moon creeping through the bedroom window was the only illumination as they wordlessly shed their clothing. Brenda pulled the dress over Irene's head, pushed the bra from her shoulders, solemnly hooked the thumbs in the waist band of her underwear, lowered them. Irene repeated the action with Brenda until they were both naked.

When Brenda reached for her, her touch was feather light on Irene's skin. Irene stepped into the embrace, resting her hands on the gentle curve of her hips. When their lips met, it was with a slow languid passion, breaking for small breathes in between lips and tongue and teeth. Brenda's skin was so soft and smooth under Irene's hands, against her breasts.

Brenda's lips and teeth found the sensitive skin just above her collarbone, eliciting a soft whimper from Irene that gave way to a throaty moan as her mouth traveled down and circled around one nipple, then the other, teasing with her tongue. And when Brenda dropped to her knees, Irene had to place a hand on the top of her head to steady herself.

Gentle kisses trailed up both sides of her inner thighs, causing Irene to roll her hips forward trying to create contact between Brenda's mouth and the throbbing center of her pleasure. But instead of obliging, Brenda leaned back, denying her the pressure she craved. Climbing to her feet, the blond woman smiled faintly and ducked her head.

Irene's breath came in long, hushed gasps and she watched her lover through half-lidded eyes, laden with arousal. She wanted Brenda, the wetness between her legs and the rapid beat of her pulse testament to that fact. But she wanted her too badly to rush it, to force it. She wanted Brenda to take her on her own terms, so she said nothing, did nothing.

Until Brenda's hand gingerly cupped her mound, with just enough pressure to make the contact noticeable, but light enough that it was unbearable. Irene cried out in response, quickly wrapping her arm around the other woman's neck as her hips bucked involuntarily and her knees buckled. With her free arm wrapping around Irene's waist, Brenda gently guided her to the bed, her hand still against the soft curls between her legs.

Once safely lying on the cushion and softness of comforter and pillows, Irene opened her eyes to find Brenda smiling down at her, her free arm having moved to cradle her head.

Irene opened her mouth to speak, but words became the farthest thing from her mind as Brenda slipped a finger into her, then a second and began slow, steady thrusts. Her thumb joined the rhythm, pressing against her clit. Time and environment fell away from the two women, until it was only them. Only Brenda and her hand, steadily increasing pace and intensity with its thrusts. Irene was helpless to look away, captured by Brenda's strong brown eyes that demanded her attention. Even if she had wanted to, she doubted she would have been able to shut her eyes against the woman she was desperately in love with.

Her hips began to follow the rhythm set by Brenda's hand as she felt the intensity of the orgasm begin to build. And when she came, it was with her entire body, with wordless, shuddering scream, still enthralled by the expression of helpless adoration written in Brenda's smile and eyes. Even as the orgasm crested and subsided, and Brenda's mouth found hers, their eyes were still locked.

Irene only closed her eyes once Brenda withdrew her hand, causing her body to clench and shudder a final time before relaxing. Feeling boneless, she allowed herself to be pulled into the older woman and rested her head on her chest.

They were both silent while Irene's breathing steadied to a normal rhythm. Before the night they became lovers, Irene had wondered what it would be like to sleep next to Brenda, to come home knowing that she would be waiting for her, to be loved by her. Nothing in her daydreams or fantasies had come close to approximating how she felt now.

Brenda might not have actually said the words, but she had shown tonight through the romantic dinner, the way she shyly ducked her head whenever Irene caught her staring, how she had made love to her, that there was potential for more than just a casual friendship with added bonus of sex. Not only was there the potential for it, that _more_ was exactly what Brenda wanted too.

It was overwhelming, and Irene was powerless to do anything except hug the other woman closer. Brenda's response was to gently cup Irene's head to her chest and place the lightest of kisses atop the crown of her head. The simple kindness of the gesture almost completely undid Irene, who was already engulfed by emotion and still reeling from the after effects of orgasm.

Irene sniffed, refusing to allow the impending catharsis to consume her. If Brenda noticed, which she was sure that she had because nothing escaped the deputy chief's observation, she had the grace not to acknowledge it. Irene grinned into the bare skin under her face, moving to still any curiosity. "Did you learn that from Lifetime too?" She teased.

"No," Brenda responded, absently stroking Irene's hair. "No. The internet."

Her tone and manner were so serious, that Irene craned her neck to see the other woman's face to see if were indeed serious. A wide, cat-like smile told her that she was being teased right back. "Oh, really then?" Irene countered, not willing to be outdone. "Then where?"

At that Brenda grinned, her fingers traveling south to draw lazy circles on Irene's bare back. "I had a good teacher."

Memories from their first night together flashed through Irene's mind, one after another causing the pleasurable itch between her legs to return. "And who was that?"

"My roommate in college."

Irene pulled away, propping herself on her elbow and studying the beautiful blonde woman's face. Torn between disappointment and disbelief, she quirked a brow. "Are you serious?"

Brenda laughed and pulled her close again, kissing her once lightly and then again with fervor that was equally passionate and possessive. "No," She traced the angle of Irene's jaw with a fingertip. "No, of course not, sweetie. You were my first. Woman that is. I'm not, I mean I wasn't a-"

Grinning at Brenda's endearing awkwardness, Irene silenced her with another kiss. "I know, Brenda." The name fell effortlessly off her tongue; after a year of calling the older woman 'chief' or 'ma'am' she was afraid that it might not. "I know, love."

**To be continued...**


	9. Chapter 9

**Title: Conduct Unbecoming**

**Pairing: Brenda Leigh Johnson/Irene Daniels**

**Disclaimer: Oh if only I were so blessed. But I'm not. Not mine.**

**A/N: I am appalled by the steaming lack of the Closer femslash. So I rectified the situation. **

* * *

Sleep slowly dissipated as Brenda found herself being gently coaxed into wakefulness. Soft lips nipped along the side of her rib cage. Despite herself, she grinned at the sensation but was loathe to open her eyes, not wanting it to be morning yet, not wanting to have to drag herself to work. The previous night with Irene was too perfect, almost surreal. They had fallen asleep, Irene's head on her chest a bare leg thrown over Brenda's torso. Sunlight would ruin her perfect night.

She gasped as Irene's lips found her nipple, and reluctantly opened her eyes to find the bedroom still dark. Still fuzzy with sleep and distracted by the careful ministrations of Irene's mouth, a detached part of Brenda's mind noted the time on the alarm clock on the nightstand. It was only four in the morning. Content that the night still was not over, she reached down and ran her fingers through Irene's hair, clenching a handful at the base of her skull as her body involuntarily responded to the pleasure wrought by the other woman's tongue and teeth.

Her hand still wrapped in Irene's long, thick hair, Brenda pulled her up to kiss her, roughly conveying her need. And Irene responded, stirred on by her lover's forceful conduct. She rolled so that she was on top of Brenda, who could only whimper.

Unabashedly, Brenda felt her body respond by squirming, thrusting her hips upward. "Please," She whispered, her entire body flushed. She wanted to feel Irene, feel her between her legs. Her fingers, her tongue, her body, anything to relieve the ache of arousal. Cupping Irene's chin her hand, she forced her to stop nipping at her neck and meet her eyes. "Irene, please…"

"Please what?" Even the throaty huskiness was not enough to mask the mischief in the younger woman's voice.

"Make love to me, Irene." The words were lost somewhere between a plea and a command, but Irene obliged, slipping her thigh between Brenda's legs, pressing it against her wetness while simultaneously pressing herself against Brenda's thigh. The first thrusts were frantic until they found their rhythm. Brenda pressed herself harder against the other woman, while Irene ground herself against her.

"Oh, Irene…" Brenda lost herself in the pleasure, shamelessly riding her lover's thigh. The need was almost intolerable. Raw heat consumed her body, each thrust driving her closer to the edge, to the crest of orgasm.

Until her cell phone rang. Irene froze, her body going immediately still and rigid. Brenda groaned in dismay, tapped her lover's shoulder with the flat of her palm. "No, no, no… don't stop, don't stop."

They began to move again, their bodies sweat slick and sliding against one another. Brenda shut her eyes as if she could close out the annoying ring of her cell phone, and nearly succeeded. Until Irene's phone on the opposite nightstand began to chirp.

"Oh, for goodness sake," Brenda exclaimed, hammering the heels of her palms to her eyes.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Irene muttered under her breath, rolling off her lover and reaching for her phone.

Brenda groaned her exasperation, letting her hands fall to her sides to smack the sheets beside her. Blood screamed in her ears and she was still sweaty and wet with sex. This was worse than not having sex at all; worse than being with a man who was too fast. She had been so close, and so had Irene. She had felt the shuddering muscle contracts of her impending orgasm mirrored in her lover's body. Until some asshole felt the need to call at an ungodly hour.

She reached for her phone, which by now had stopped ringing. Whoever called her, and Irene, was going to feel her ire. And a grumpy deputy chief was nothing anyone wanted to trifle with. Flipping it open, she saw Sergeant Gabriel's number scroll across the caller ID.

Irene had flipped open her phone as well. "Sanchez," She held it up so Brenda could see the missed call display. "I'm gonna…" The frustration had suddenly left her voice, leaving her sounded distracted and concerned. "I'm going to go in the other room and call him back."

Nodding, Brenda hit the call button on her phone as she watched her lover exit the bedroom, swathed in one of the bed sheets for the sake of modesty. It was distracting, how the cream of the sheets contrasted with Irene's dark, chocolate skin and her mussed hair which was as dark as Indian ink. Her hips swayed gently with the small steps she took as she struggled to dial the phone and hold the sheet wrapped around her figure, an errant corner trailing behind her.

For the first time, Brenda realized she wasn't watching Detective Irene Daniels, but her lover. The woman who she was falling hopelessly in love with; the realization softened her earlier irritation, but it quickly returned once she heard Gabriel answer.

"Chief?"

"Sergeant Gabriel, I am certain there is a completely valid reason for why you are calling me at four o' clock in the morning." Brenda snapped, her sexual frustration getting the better of her. "And I certainly hope someone has been murdered because if not, someone is about to be for waking me up." She felt a twinge of guilt for lying, but she could not very well have said, "for interrupting the mind-blowing sex I was having with a female subordinate."

"Uh, yeah, chief…" Gabriel sounded caught off-guard by her tone, but he quickly recovered. He had learned swiftly to adapt to the deputy chief's moods. "There was a murder. High-rolling criminal defense attorney. Name's Howard Yule. Flynn and Provenza are already on scene, Tao is en route. Sanchez is getting in touch with Daniels. And we'll all be en route."

"Okay then, give me twenty minutes and I'll be on my way." Brenda said tersely, already throwing the covers off.

"You need me to pick you up, chief?" Gabriel asked innocently.

"No!" Brenda exclaimed, and then hastily added. "No, no, no, Sergeant Gabriel. You just go right on to the crime scene. I am perfectly capable of driving myself." She dropped her face into her hand, hoping it didn't sound as suspicious to him as it had to her.

"Um… alright, Chief." Gabriel hesitated before relaying her the address.

Brenda scribbled it on the pad she kept handy on the night stand. "Thank you, thank you very much, Sergeant Gabriel."

Irene was already standing in the doorway when she hung up. "Nobody important gets murdered for forty-eight hours. And the moment when someone finally does is when we're…"

"Don't." Brenda held up a hand to silence her. "Don't remind me." She stood and went to her dresser, yanked the drawer open. Usually, when she was called out in the middle of the night, it bothered her very little. It was par for the course, a part of her job, but this once, she found that it really irked her.

"I'm going to be late to the scene." Irene said gently, closing the gap between them by striding over to where her clothes had been discarded in a pile at the foot of the bed.

Now clad in clean undergarments, Brenda halted in her quest for an appropriate outfit to glance over at her shoulder. "Why?" Her brow knit together, bewildered by her simple statement. Naturally, they could not arrive on scene together, but there was no reason for Irene to be delayed unnecessarily.

Irene held up the sundress. "I can't go in this." She gave the garment a shake before straightening it out and pulling it over her head. "Not to mention I don't have my gun or my badge. I'll have to go home and change, and then drive to the scene."

"Oh," Was all Brenda could think of to say as she pulled a simple black dress over her head. "You could borrow something of mine, if you'd like." She gestured vaguely to her closet, bit her lower lip.

"Think about that, Brenda." Irene said flatly, sitting on the edge of the bed to put on her heels. "So not only will it be glaringly obvious that I was not at home tonight, but also that I was with you. At four in the morning."

The blond deputy chief bit her lower lip again. "I see your point." She said, and did. She knew what it was like to be a member of law enforcement, a minority in the male-dominated field. It was never enough to be good; she had to be the best. She had to work twice as hard and twice as long as her male counterparts. Any mistake or slip up set her back twice as far than if the infraction had been committed by a male. And people always searched doubly hard for any sign of weakness or incompetency.

If it were Sanchez or Flynn showing up late to a murder scene, no one would think twice. But if it was the Chief or Daniels, it would be the subject of great speculation, and no doubt wise cracks behind their backs. It was the way of the world. Even in the twentieth century women had to be better just to be equal.

Brenda regarded her lover for a moment before making her decision. Irene was a proud woman, good at her job. She never let the cracks other detectives made chink her self-confidence. But it didn't mean that in secret, it did not bother her. No doubt, she was probably running through the list of jokes Sanchez or Flynn would make when she showed up late to the scene alluding to her "having a late night" or who she might have been with. The barbs still stung, whether she showed it or not. If anyone understood that, Brenda certainly did.

She went to her nightstand, returned to Irene's side. "Here." Brenda pushed the case containing her glasses into her hand.

"I don't think these are my prescription." Irene quirked a brow at Brenda, holding the glasses case as if it were the strangest thing anyone had ever given her.

"I'll tell the others not to expect you for awhile because I sent you to the office to pick up my glasses, which I so carelessly forgot yesterday afternoon, since you live closer to the office than anyone else." Brenda smiled, leaning down to kiss her sensuously, lingering to suck on her lower lip teasingly. "And you, being such a diligent and helpful individual were good enough to oblige."

Irene grinned into the kiss, her arms snaking around Brenda's waist to pull her down onto her lap. "Is there a reward for being so… diligent and helpful?" The younger woman asked, nuzzling her face into Brenda's neck.

"There might be." Brenda leaned in and kissed her forehead. "Now, go. In case you've forgotten, we've got a dead lawyer. And I want to catch the son of a bitch who committed the murder that interrupted my rather pleasant evening." Even as she said the words, she was still loathe to break the contact, the warmth between her and Irene.

"If we're lucky, we might even get to shoot him." Irene stood and Brenda slid off her lap and to her feet. Placing a quick peck on the deputy chief's cheek, she turned to leave. "Thank you, Brenda." She held the glasses case between thumb and forefinger. "Really. Thank you."

Brenda merely smiled and nodded. "Maybe, perhaps, if you wanted that is, you could keep some clothes over here, and your gun and your badge. Just in case this ever happens again."

**To be continued...**


	10. Chapter 10

**Title: Conduct Unbecoming**

**Pairing: Brenda Leigh Johnson/Irene Daniels**

**Disclaimer: Oh if only I were so blessed. But I'm not. Not mine.**

**A/N: I am appalled by the steaming lack of the Closer femslash. So I rectified the situation. **

* * *

"How come I'm still in bed, completely naked and you're trying to sneak out of the house?" Irene watched her lover tip-toe from the bathroom, holding her heels in her hand so she wouldn't make any noise crossing the bedroom. Her hair was still dampened several shades darker by the shower, and she was dressed in black pencil skirt, and a contrasting white knit tank top. A matching black blazer was draped over her arm as she froze at the sound of Irene's voice.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to wake you." Brenda said, whispering as if it was necessary at this point. "Pope called, I have to go to some budget… meeting thing."

Irene propped herself up on the pillow, pursing her lips. "That was the whole point of you taking two days off, of arranging it so everyone thinks I'm at some anti-terrorism conference in Montana. So we could have two days off together."

"I know, honey, but…" Brenda smiled apologetically and fussed with her hair in the mirror over the dresser. "I'll just be a few hours." She said in her sweetest voice, caught Irene's skeptical gaze in the mirror and sighed. "I promise."

"Pope just doesn't like letting you out of his sight. Especially since he found out you broke up with Fritz." Irene crossed her arms over her chest, feeling very much like a child that had just been told she couldn't have any more cookies. She hated the way Pope leered at Brenda when he thought no one was looking. All while she watched warily, unable to let on that she even noticed him eyeing her girlfriend. It was infuriating.

"Honey, Pope's just like a little lost puppy is all." Brenda said lightly, trying to play off the matter as unimportant. After four months together, so far the only disagreements they had were about Pope's intentions and whether Cool Whip was better than whipped cream. "Two hours, I promise." Brenda gave herself one final glance in the mirror before facing Irene.

Irene sighed and threw the covers off of her body and threw her legs over the side of the bed. "Well, seeing as how I can't leave the house because I'm supposed to be in Montana, what am I supposed to do while you're gone, hmm?" She said suggestively, reaching her hands above her head and stretching exaggeratedly. The movement had the desired effect on Brenda, whose eyes traced the curves of Irene's toned, nude body hungrily.

Brenda groaned as she reluctantly shrugged into her blazer. "You know I don't want to go, and it isn't fair to tease me." She went to Irene, bent down and kissed her forehead. Irene closed her eyes, concentrated on how cool the lips on her forehead and that small kiss made her feel so complete and safe and comforted. With Brenda's hand on the back of her head and her lips on her brow, nothing in the world could possibly harm her or go wrong.

She sighed again when Brenda withdrew and scooped up her cell phone from the night stand. "Brenda…" Her lover, her boss, the deputy chief stopped in the doorway and turned. Irene faltered and forced a smile. "Happy birthday, honey."

Trying to hide a wince with a smile, Brenda tilted her head. "Thank you, thank you very much. I'll see you in just a little while, honey."

Still seated on the edge of the bed, Irene watched her lover walk down the hall. She remained sitting there long after she heard the front door open and shut. She was such a coward. That would have been the perfect opportunity, and yet she had been unable to harvest enough courage to say the simple phrase, "I love you."

Instead, she had said the one thing Brenda probably wanted to hear least. A fortieth birthday was just another day, but to Brenda it was a glowering black mark on the calendar. She had been increasingly anxious and flighty as the day had approached. That was part of the reason Irene invented the scheme for them to have two days off together, her birthday and the day after. But it seemed she still had not warmed to the notion of being forty.

"I should have just told her I loved her." Irene murmured, forcing herself to stand. She dressed without thought, donning an old pair of Brenda's sweatpants and a tank top. The clothes were little more than pajamas, but she couldn't very well walk around the house completely nude. Wondering why, after four months, they still had not said "I love you," Irene began the mindless task of picking up the house.

Irene had wanted to say them since the very beginning. She had no doubt she was in love with the blond, fiery deputy chief even before their relationship began. But for propriety's sake, she had waited, hoping Brenda would say it first. She hadn't, so far.

For the past three months, they had basically lived together. Half of Brenda's closet had been cleaned out for Irene's clothing. She had her own toothbrush in the bathroom; her own shampoo and body wash in the shower. Brenda had even started buying Irene's favorite breakfast cereal to keep in the pantry. Irene only maintained the lease on her apartment for appearances; she rarely stayed over there at night anymore.

Yet there was something silent and unspoken holding both of them back. Irene had no doubt of Brenda's feelings towards her. Often times, they stayed up far too late talking about things that only mattered at that moment or watching horribly produced television movies on Lifetime. Irene had caught a cold, and Brenda forced her to stay in bed, driving home on her lunch break to bring Irene soup and cough medicine. There was a passion in their lovemaking that could not be faked or forced. They ate dinner together every night, cleaned the kitchen together afterwards. They had even taken to cleaning Kitty's litter box on alternating days.

If that wasn't love, Irene was at a loss for what was. But that did not even cover how Irene felt about Brenda. When she was with her, she was complete. She never felt more safe or secure than when wrapped in Brenda's arms. Every kiss from Brenda robbed her of breath, hastened her pulse. When Brenda smiled, Irene could not help but mirror the gesture with a smile of her own. There was nothing she wouldn't do for the older woman, and she was confident nothing that she would not do for her.

Irene threw the dirty clothes they had haphazardly discarded all over the bedroom in a fit of sweat and lust into the hamper with more force than was necessary. She wasn't sure if she was more frustrated by circumstance or herself, so she padded barefoot into the kitchen. Breakfast would make her feel better.

She poured a bowl of her cereal before adding the milk. Taking her bowl of cereal with her, she went to the living room and dropped onto the couch. Usually, she read Brenda's paper while she ate, but she wanted something more numbing to occupy her while she ate. Remote in hand, she thumbed through the channels, finally settling on one of the various Law and Order shows. Didn't matter what time it was, some variant of that show was always on some channel or another.

Halfway through her bowl of cereal and at the pivotal moment on Law and Order right before the perpetrator cracked on the stand or the district attorneys made a crucial discovery that would alter the course of the entire case, the doorbell rang. Frowning, Irene set her bowl on the coffee table and hesitated.

Irene had never been in the position to answer Brenda's door before. No one ever stopped by unannounced, and the majority of the time Brenda was there with her to answer it. Swallowing the mouthful of cereal she had been chewing, she climbed to her feet. It was probably just Avon or some Mormon kids.

Smoothing her still sleep-wild hair, she opened the door. An older woman with short, white hair and familiar dark eyes smiled and then blinked as if perplexed. Glancing down at a folded piece of paper in her hand, the smile immediately reappeared. "Oh, I'm sorry, I must have the wrong address. Although I'm almost certain I copied it correctly."

Irene felt a corner of her lips quirk in amusement. Here she was worried about answering the door of her girlfriend's house, and the lady didn't even have the right address. "What's the address, ma'am?" She smiled warmly at the woman who told her the address. It was Brenda's address alright. "I'm sorry ma'am, that's this address but you must have written down the wrong street numbers."

"Hmm." The woman seemed to agree. "Well maybe you can still help me. I'm looking for my daughter, she might be one of your neighbors." Irene was about to tell her that she did not know any of the neighbors here, but woman continued. "She's a deputy chief with the police department here. Her name's Brenda, Brenda Leigh Johnson." She said beaming with obvious pride.

Fuck. Was the only thing Irene could think. Fuck. She realized she had to recover quickly because the old lady, Mrs. Johnson, was eyeing her peculiarly. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Her mind screamed, but she swiftly shut her mouth and smiled. "Oh, Mrs. Johnson, come in. I'm Irene Daniels, a friend of Brenda's."

"How do you do, Irene." Mrs. Johnson smiled civilly, but her expression was one of studious expectation even as she picked up a small suitcase on the ground beside her that Irene had not noticed before.

"Brenda's at work," She explained quickly, shutting the door behind her girlfriend's mother. "My apartment is being fumigated for bugs, and Brenda was nice enough to let me stay here in the mean time. Here, let me take that for you."

Mrs. Johnson allowed Irene to take her bag, her scrupulous eyes shifting, absorbing her daughter's home. "What a cozy little home," She commented, seeming to accept Irene's story with little skepticism. "It certainly could stand a thorough cleaning though." She ran a finger over the nearest lampshade, disapproval clearly coloring her tone.

Still struggling to fight the panic welling up in her throat, Irene went into the kitchen and set the suitcase on the table. She should have known. The accent should have been a dead giveaway, not to mention the eyes, the same dark, all-seeing eyes that Brenda had. Sucking in a deep breath, she faced Mrs. Johnson again, "Does Brenda know you're here?" She asked casually. "I mean, she'll be so happy to see you on her birthday. Sounds like the perfect surprise."

"No, both her father and I were supposed to come to surprise her for her birthday, but..." Mrs. Johnson was exploring the living room slowly, as if something dangerous might pop out at her at any moment. "He threw out his back at the last moment and couldn't come, so I came myself."

Irene smiled as if that was the best idea anyone had ever had. "Why don't you sit down, make yourself comfortable…" She gestured to the sofa even as she realized, much to her own mortification, that she was still in her pajamas, and appropriately, in Mrs. Johnson's daughter's pants. "And I'll go change real quick."

All but running for the bedroom, Irene locked the door behind her and snatched up her cell phone. The first call rang several times before cutting for voice mail. Irene snapped the phone shut before trying again, rummaging through her closet for something appropriate to wear with her free hand. Brenda still did not answer.

Cursing to herself as she struggled to undress with one hand, she tried again. And again. It wasn't until Irene was halfway dressed that her girlfriend finally answered.

"For heaven's sake, Irene, what is it?" Brenda answered without preamble.

"Guess who showed up on your front door step with a birthday surprise?" Irene could not help but sound irritated. She couldn't help but think of Brenda's initial reaction after the first night they spent together: _Oh, God. What would my Mama say?_

Brenda huffed, exasperated. "I do not have time to play guessing games, Irene. Pope's in a prissy mood and we're only half way through the budget reports." The hollow echo on the phone told Irene that her girlfriend was hiding in the ladies' room.

"Your mother." Irene hissed, yanking a blouse over her head while trying to juggle the phone. The panic she had managed to conceal from Mrs. Johnson was creeping into her voice now.

Silence ticked by. "Mama? Mama's there?" Brenda sounded bewildered.

"Yes. She wanted to surprise you for your birthday." Irene explained.

In the entire time she had known Deputy Chief Brenda Leigh Johnson, Irene had only heard her swear a handful of times. Even when interrogating the vilest, most contemptuous suspects, she was always the portrait of propriety. Even when it was just the two of them, Brenda rarely cursed. And never had Irene heard her use the word fuck, even when that was what they were doing. Ever the Southern lady, she rarely let her anger or frustration show through in her speech.

"Fuck." Brenda finally breathed on the other end of the phone. "Fuck."

**To be continued...**


	11. Chapter 11

**Title: Conduct Unbecoming**

**Pairing: Brenda Leigh Johnson/Irene Daniels**

**Disclaimer: Oh if only I were so blessed. But I'm not. Not mine.**

**A/N: I am appalled by the steaming lack of the Closer femslash. So I rectified the situation. **

* * *

Brenda Leigh Johnson was never more certain that the world was going to end than on her fortieth birthday.

As she battled ferocious LA traffic to make her way home, her girlfriend was sitting in the living room with her mother. Alone. Irene had filled her in on the cover story; she was staying with Brenda while her apartment was being fumigated for roaches or mice or something. Not a bad story thought of on the spur of the moment, but the fact remained that her mother was alone with her lesbian lover. If her Mama found out…

She refused to think of it. Even as she pulled up to a screeching halt in front of her home, she drew in all of her focus on concealing the true nature of her and Irene's relationship from her mother. Slinging her purse over her shoulder, she strode purposefully up to the house and inside.

"Happy Birthday, Brenda Leigh!" Her mother greeted her, immediately standing from the kitchen table where she and Irene had been seated. Brenda submitted to having her mother crush her face between her hands to as she kissed her forehead. Then, she took Brenda's hands in her own and held her at arm's length, beginning the compulsory scrutiny. "You look skinny Brenda Leigh, are you getting enough to eat."

"Yes, Mama." Brenda replied automatically. She was probably eating more now than ever, with Irene cooking on a regular basis. "What a surprise, I wish I would have known you were coming." She said, with more conviction than her mother would ever know.

"Well, then it wouldn't have been a surprise, dear." Over the crown of her mother's head, Brenda caught Irene's gaze. Despite the situation, the younger woman was biting down on her lower lip, hard, trying to suppress a grin, but she could not hide the mirth dancing in her eyes. Brenda glowered. "Oh, Irene made tea, would you like a cup, dear?"

"Oh, no, no no…" Brenda shook her head, surprised that she had tea kettle in her house, let alone tea. "Thank you, no. Mama, has Detective Daniels given you a tour of the house yet?" Un-shouldering her purse, she tossed it unceremoniously onto the counter.

"Mrs. Johnson and I have just been talking, Chief." Irene volunteered, her tone suspiciously innocent. "We hadn't gotten around to exploring the house yet."

They had decided on the phone, after Brenda had overcome her initial shock and panic, that they would maintain that Irene was her coworker, and act just like they did at work. Comfortable bubble of distance, overly formal interaction, and her mother could not possibly figure out that they were in fact a great deal more than coworkers. Hell, no one in the squad was the wiser and they saw the two together every day.

Then why am I still so nervous? Brenda asked herself mentally, even as she heard her mother speaking again. "Oh, Irene, please call me Willie Rae. Mrs. Johnson is just so formal."

"Okay, Willie Rae." Irene smiled at Brenda's mother, and if Brenda hadn't known better, she might have thought that part of her lover was enjoying this.

By the grace of a merciful god, the tour of the house was relatively uneventful. Irene had graciously offered to fix lunch for the three women, which was more an excuse to allow mother and daughter to be alone for awhile. Honestly, Brenda was grateful. She was not quite exactly at ease, but she was less on edge separated from the woman she was desperately trying to keep secret.

She didn't know why exactly. Other than the fact that both her parents were traditional Southern individuals, they certainly weren't the ignorant, prejudiced sort that burned crosses in people's yards. In fact, she had never heard a discriminatory statement from either her mother or father. Gays were simply referred to as "those people," without any malice or disgust and otherwise, not spoken of at all.

Yet, Brenda felt it critical to hide her relationship with Irene. To Willie Rae Johnson, there was a definite order to things: meet, a lengthy courtship, a doubly long engagement, followed by marriage whereupon the couple would finally live together, and eventually, children would follow. Irene and Brenda's relationship certainly had not followed the "natural order" of things. They had sex before they began the courtship, and in essence were already living together even though they had not even said, "I love you" to one another.

Eventually, after Irene and she had been together a number of years, she might consider telling her Mama, but in the interim, it was a drama she wanted to avoid. Absently, as she showed her mother from room to room, she wondered if Irene was offended. God, she hoped not. She had seemed understanding of the situation, and as desperate to conceal their relationship as Brenda was. She did not think Irene, who had never so much as mentioned her own parents, was bothered by the ordeal.

She would have to make it up to Irene. They had planned two whole days alone, together. Flowers, she made a mental note to order flowers for her lover once Mama left town. And chocolates. She added before realizing her mother was speaking to me. "Why, Brenda Leigh, you certainly have been doing a lot of shopping."

"Huh?" Brenda glanced up, startled; she hadn't even noticed her mother wandering into the closet as she showed her the master bedroom. "Oh, uh, well you know…" She resisted the urge to yank her mother out of the closet when she realized she was browsing through Irene's clothes. "Now that I am deputy chief, I always have to look my best." It sounded thin to her ears, but she hoped it would pass muster with her mother.

"Hmm," Mama replied noncommittally, then gestured vaguely to the still unmade bed. "I see you still don't have much time for housework; how are you ever going to find yourself a husband if you don't take care of yourself."

"Mama," Brenda winced and sighed. "Mama, I did have a husband." She reminded, falling into the same conversation they had all the time. "And I'm not looking for another one."

Willie Rae narrowed her eyes at her daughter. "You're not getting any younger, Brenda Leigh."

"It's my birthday, Mama. Not getting younger is an aspect of my life that I am painfully aware of." Brenda noticed the open door leading to the bathroom and casually skirted her mother. Irene hadn't mentioned whether or not she thought to pick up the extra toothbrush, the extra set of toiletries. She shut the door quietly while her mother proceeded to check every horizontal surface for dust and eye the curtains as if they might be poisonous.

Leaning against the doorframe to the bedroom, Irene made eye contact with Brenda before making her presence known. "Brenda- Chief, lunch is ready if you're ready."

Irene had made spaghetti and garlic bread and greens. She had prepared it so quickly Brenda wondered if she hadn't been planning on surprising her with a homemade lunch all along. She had set the table with three place settings, even pulled the chair out for Willie Rae to sit. "Why, thank you dear. I must say, this looks fantastic." The older woman smiled graciously, unfolding her napkin in her lap. "Your boyfriend surely realizes how lucky he is."

Brenda sat across from her mother, catching Irene stiffen in response to her mother's comment. "Oh, no ma'am. I mean, that is to say I don't have a boyfriend." She stumbled over the words sheepishly before quickly sitting. So far, Irene had only spoken when addressed directly. The younger woman was adept at remaining inconspicuous unless called upon.

"I don't know what is wrong with the young men today." Willie Rae commented. "Have they all gone dumb and blind? Now when your father and I-"

"Mama," Brenda interjected, anxious to interrupt her mother before she plunged down the treacherous path of "in my day." She smiled her best diplomatic smile. "How about after lunch we get you settled into the guest room. I bet you're exhausted from your flight."

Willie Rae paused in mid-chew, her eyes blinking in surprise. She finished chewing and daintily dabbed the corners of her mouth before speaking. "I thought Irene was staying in the guest room?"

Irene caught Brenda's eye in a shared breath of crisis. "She is, but I'm sure she wouldn't mind sleeping on the sofa while you're here." After Willie Rae returned to Atlanta, Brenda was sure she was going to be the one sleeping on the sofa after this horrific mess. She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. Brenda's home had been their respite, the one place they could be together without worry or dread someone might find them out.

Brenda watched her lover out of the corner of her eye while she took a large bite of the spaghetti. She wasn't hungry; her stomach still fluttered anxiously with every shift in her mother's gaze, with every probing question she asked. Did her mother suspect something? How were they going to survive the next two days without her finding out?

And when Mama finally did leave, would Irene be right behind her? The thought brought involuntary tears to Brenda's eyes. The thought of the small, dark woman leaving her life was absolutely unbearable. The agony she felt at the thought was palpable, a chronic ache below her breast. Irene deserved better than this. It was not fair, to either of them. They were both grown women; Brenda did not want to spend the next few days petrified that her mother would find them out. And it certainly was not fair to subject Irene to that either.

For once, she had to stand up for herself. Maybe not for her own sake, but for Irene's at the least. She was forty years old; would she spend the next forty years agonizing over what her parents thought of her every decision? If her parents disapproved, so be it. Irene was worth it; she was worth the risk. She was worth everything because for the first time in Brenda's life, she felt like her life was worth sharing with someone.

When she was with Irene, she did not worry that she was too old or too difficult. The younger woman accepted her for who she was. Brenda knew she was not the easiest person to get along with. But Irene loved her, not despite her flaws but because of them. Irene loved all of her, the good along with the bad. That sort of love, if nothing else, was worth it.

"I don't mind at all, Willie Rae." Irene backed her girlfriend up without hesitation.

"Wait, Mama…" Brenda shut her eyes and sighed heavily, feeling very much like a teenager than the grown woman she was. "Mama," Brenda fumbled for Irene's hand underneath the table, when she found it she squeezed it tightly. "Mama, I need to tell you something."

Cocking her head to the side, Willie Rae arched a delicate brow. "I want to ask Irene something first." She said firmly in a tone that would not accept argument. She turned her eyes on the younger woman, and Brenda recognized that expression. It was the same expression she herself wore whenever she was interrogating a suspect.

"Mama, really, I-" Brenda tried to interrupt, knowing if she did not speak up now she was going to lose her nerve.

"Brenda Leigh," Her mother said, as if she were scolding a child and not the deputy chief of the Priority Murder Squad. "I want to ask Irene a question." Despite her white hair and gently wrinkled face, there was a sharpness and strength that had been tempered with time. Willie Rae Johnson might appear to be a sweet old lady, but there was a ferocity to her that Brenda was well acquainted with and knew not to trifle with. So she remained silent.

Her eyes softening once again, Willie Rae turned her attention back to Irene who smiled expectantly. "So, Irene," Wille Rae began her voice once again as sweet and smooth as honey as she canted her head to the side. "Exactly how long have you been sleeping with my daughter?"

**To be continued...**


	12. Chapter 12

**Title: Conduct Unbecoming**

**Pairing: Brenda Leigh Johnson/Irene Daniels**

**Disclaimer: Oh if only I were so blessed. But I'm not. Not mine.**

**A/N: I am appalled by the steaming lack of the Closer femslash. So I rectified the situation. **

* * *

"Exactly how long have you been sleeping with my daughter?"

Irene had been in the middle of a nervous inhalation when the question had been posed, and she temporarily forgot how to breathe. Choking on her own breath, she struggled to raise her eyes to see if Willie Rae was serious. Sharp eyes focused on her gave the only answer she needed.

I'm fucked. Was Irene's first thought, and then, does Brenda's mother know where the guns are kept in this house? Fighting the swelling bubble of panic rising in her throat, she shared an alarmed glimpse with her lover. How could she possibly answer a question like that without feeling like she was pleading guilty to a capital crime? No matter what she said, the potential outcomes were negative. Somehow, she knew if she lied the keen old woman would instantly know.

She realized that she was still holding Brenda's hand under the table and squeezed it tightly, their fingers intertwining as if it was the last source of comfort available in the world. Brenda squeezed her hand in return. "Four months," Irene finally managed to croak, her throat still constricted. Honesty had been the only answer that she was able to manage.

In her hand, Irene felt Brenda's arm tremble. It was the only time she had ever heard the deputy chief speechless. "Four months," Irene repeated, this time with more confidence as she firmly met Willie Rae's eyes.

"Well, Brenda Leigh, when were you planning on telling me? Or were you going to sneak around and hide it from me the entire time I was here?" Willie Rae's tone was accusatory.

"Mama," Brenda started and faltered. "I… don't know. I didn't know what to tell you. I still don't." Her shoulders hunched forward slightly, and her words were plaintive. Irene's heart cried out at her lover's obvious distress. She wanted to gather Brenda into her arms, hold her, but still uncertain of Willie Rae's reaction, she didn't. "I… how did you know, Mama?"

"For detectives, you certainly aren't very good at concealing evidence." Willie Rae said disapprovingly. "When Irene answered the door, she was wearing the sweat pants I gave you two Christmases ago. Both you and Irene told me that she had been staying here two days already, but the bed in the guest room, hasn't been touched in who knows how long. Half the clothes in the closet do not belong to you, dear, no matter what you say." She ticked off the list of evidence against them on her fingers.

Neither of the younger women had any response. Irene felt as if the world was caving in on her, suffocating and inevitable; she could only imagine how Brenda must be feeling. Evidently Willie Rae hadn't expected a response because she continued, this time directly addressing her daughter. "Do you think you love this woman, Brenda Leigh?"

Brenda bit her lower lip, her eyes fixed on Irene with open adoration as if she were drawing strength from her. "Yes, Mama," She said finally, making eye contact with her mother, defiantly. "I do."

"And do you think you love my daughter, young lady?" Willie Rae gave no hint of what she was thinking. In that respect, she was exactly like Brenda: plowing forward with her questions until she reached a conclusion, even if the line of questioning seemed random or irrelevant. There was a purpose behind every question, no matter how trivial it seemed.

Irene did not hesitate. "I love her more than my next heart beat, Mrs. Johnson," She said adamantly, challenging the old woman to dispute her answer.

"Well," Willie Rae said, holding Irene's eyes for a long moment before looking down at her plate. "I suppose we should finish eating before it gets cold." She picked up her fork and smiled as if she hadn't just confronted Irene about the lesbian relationship with her daughter moments before.

"Mama!" Brenda exclaimed, still clutching Irene's hand. They shared confused expressions. Irene was trying to figure out what Willie Rae's aim was. This definitely wasn't something from Brenda's playbook. Blindsiding, yes. Rapid-firing questions, yes. Leaving a person lost and bewildered, no. It was as if the past ten minutes had never occurred.

But they had, despite the fact that Willie Rae was happily enjoying her lunch. She had just admitted to loving Brenda, and more importantly Brenda had said she loved her. It was the first time either of them had admitted the words aloud, and Irene felt her heart swell inside her.

"Mama," Brenda was obviously reigning in her reaction. "You can't start a conversation like that and just end it with no explanation. You just can't."

Willie Rae blinked as if she had no idea what her daughter might be referring to. "Brenda Leigh, I've known you before today. Just because you moved across the country doesn't mean you're not my daughter."

"Of course, I'm your daughter. But what does that have to do with the price of tea in China? That's all you're going to say? You're not mad?" Brenda demanded, frustrated.

Tentatively, Irene reached out and brushed an unruly lock of hair from her lover's face, drawing her attention. Smiling faintly, she allowed her knuckles to brush her cheek as she withdrew her hand. Brenda was probably one of the most intelligent people she had ever met, but when it came to her own relationships, she was somewhat socially inept. Not to mention the emotional rollercoaster ride that she had endured over the past few hours must have been harrowing. "I think she gave us her blessing, sweetie." She looked at Willie Rae, who affirmed the statement with a nod.

"It sounded more like an interrogation than a…" Brenda trailed off, searching for the appropriate word. "blessings-giving." She snapped finally.

"Brenda Leigh, I'm your mother and I know you. Your job is very important to you. You wouldn't risk having an affair with a female detective in your squad unless she made you very, very happy." Willie Rae reached across the table to pat her daughter's cheek, her smile somewhat wistful. "I'm not mad. I am just sorry you felt you had to keep your happiness a secret."

"Oh, Mama," Brenda sighed, rounded the table to hug her mother. "Thank you, Mama. Thank you very much." Bending down, she embraced the older woman around the shoulders.

Irene was satisfied to watch the private moment between mother and daughter without a word. There was nothing that she needed to say or do. Brenda loved her, had said so aloud. And she loved Brenda. Willie Rae Johnson was no longer an obstacle, but an important step in the progression of their relationship. It was Brenda's fortieth birthday, and they were eating lunch with the only other person in the world who knew the two women were lovers. Irene was content, and there was nothing that could spoil that.

When Brenda returned to her seat next to Irene, she paused before shyly, almost demurely, kissing the corner of Irene's mouth.

"Now, Irene," Willie Rae was speaking again. "I already know you can cook, so Brenda Leigh certainly won't starve. And you seem like a very sweet young lady, but if you were a young man courting my daughter… I feel inclined to give you the same speech I would any young man who was pursuing the affections of my daughter."

Irene grinned broadly at Brenda's obvious discomfort at the turn the conversation had taken. "Yes, ma'am?"

"I can see you care for my daughter very much," Willie Rae continued, unfazed by her daughter's chagrin. "But don't you ever, ever hurt her. I don't ever want her to come to me crying because you broke her heart." She warned, shaking an imposing finger at Irene.

Nodding solemnly, Irene replied soberly, "No, ma'am." There was no force in the world strong enough to make her intentionally harm the beautiful, golden-haired woman next to her, and she would die before she let anyone else hurt her either. Without Brenda, she was only a vague emptiness of herself.

As if satisfied with Irene's answer, Willie Rae nodded, but fixed her intense dark eyes on Irene. "Good, because who do you think taught Brenda Leigh to shoot a gun?"

"Mama!" Brenda cried, throwing her hands up in amazement at her mother's lack of subtlety. "Could you not threaten my girlfriend at the dinner table?"

"Brenda, honey, she was teasing." Irene set a hand on her lover's forearm to calm her, but even as she did so, she wasn't sure if Willie Rae's words had been in complete jest.

**To be continued...**


	13. Chapter 13

**Title: Conduct Unbecoming**

**Pairing: Brenda Leigh Johnson/Irene Daniels**

**Disclaimer: Oh if only I were so blessed. But I'm not. Not mine.**

**A/N: I am appalled by the steaming lack of the Closer femslash. So I rectified the situation. **

* * *

"Say," Irene breathed in between a frenzy of kisses. "Say it again," It was a plea that Brenda felt her trying to convey with each press of their lips, tongues. "Please, Brenda…"

They had all but stumbled into the bedroom after dinner, after they made Willie Rae comfortable in the guest room, said their good nights. Brenda had kicked the door shut behind them, their bodies meeting instantly as if they had been separated for months. Mama may have given the two women her blessing, but Brenda wasn't completely comfortable with overt signs of affection under her mother's unwavering scrutiny.

Now, in the darkened privacy of their bedroom, they were free to say and do everything that had crossed their mind in the course of the day. "Say it, Brenda… please," Irene tugged insistently at the blazer that restricted her hands from Brenda's bare shoulders.

"I love you," Brenda obliged, dropping her shoulders to allow Irene to pull her free of the offending clothing. "I love you, Irene, I love you."

Irene sighed, a quiet, choked sound before discarding the blazer on the floor, pressing her lover's body against the closed down with her own. She cradled Brenda's face in her hands and pulled it to her with another desperate kiss. "I love you, Brenda." It was barely a whisper, as if she were afraid of the words. "I don't think there was ever a moment when I wasn't in love with you."

Their movements suddenly stilled, one moment wild, the next deliberate and honest. Irene met Brenda's eyes only for a flicker of a moment before dropping her hand to the back of her neck, nuzzled her face into the crook between shoulder and neck. "I love you." She repeated.

Brenda wrapped one arm around the younger woman's waist, the other hand resting on the back of her hand and held her. Eyes shut, she felt the steady rise and fall of Irene's breathing, the quiet breath on her neck. It was as if every emotion that they had held back over the past four months had been wrenched free by those three softly spoken words with a violence that threatened to undo them both.

The fear of their relationship being discovered by the squad, by Pope, by their families. The fear of rejection, of failure. The irresistible tug of joy waking up next to one another, or seeing one another smile. The deep-seated heat of desire that settled in their bellies when they kissed. The uncertainty and anxiety of facing each day, dreading the moment when one of them slipped up and their relationship revealed. The resentment that they had to conceal their happiness. The unreserved contentment they felt only wrapped in each other. The knowledge that neither of them had ever felt this happy, this safe and comforted, with anyone before. The devastating potential of losing one another.

Saying I love you was not a light declaration, it couldn't be. Uttering those words was a confession of all their fears and feelings. It was binding, giving life to every unspoken thought and emotion. It made all of their worries that much more acute. It was a confession of vulnerability, for both women.

It was overwhelming, and Brenda felt like crying. Not because she was sad or even because she was happy, but simply because she was swept away in the torrent of emotion, of gratitude and adoration for the younger woman, the intolerable anguish at the thought of losing her. Engulfed by such ravaging emotions, the only reaction that was forthcoming was tears. Refusing to submit to the sting behind her eyes, she held Irene closer, tighter, clung to her as if drowing.

"I need you Brenda," Irene admitted, and Brenda was not surprised to feel a cooling dampness on the skin of her shoulder.

Brenda felt her composure crack, but she swallowed hard and pressed her lips to the top of Irene's head firmly. She maintained the kiss until she was certain of being able to trust her voice, "I know, sweetie." She murmured, smoothing the younger woman's hair affectionately. "I know, we'll find a way to make this work, I promise." The words she spoke were as much for her own benefit as for Irene's.

When the younger woman didn't answer, she framed Irene's face with her hands and lifted it until their eyes met. "Us, Irene. That is the only thing I care about." She said vehemently. "My life is about you now, about us. The rest of the world can… go fly a kite for all I care." She smiled faintly. "I need us."

Irene mirrored her lover, reached up and rested her fingertips along the curve of Brenda's jaw. "Us." Irene repeated, crisp dark eyes searching her face. "Do you mean that?"

"I do." Brenda promised. "It doesn't matter how many bad guys I put away or how many years I put in on the force, I'm still just Brenda Leigh. When I'm with you, I'm so much more." She dropped her eyes self-consciously. "I want… you make me want to be more. And I can only be that with you."

Irene tilted her head to one side, leaning into Brenda's touch. Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment, when she opened them again she was smiling. "In that case, I think Brenda Leigh Daniels sounds nice… I…"

Brenda pulled the younger woman close again and silenced her with her mouth.

**The End... for now.**


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